Chapter 1
The scream began in a kitchen.
A quiet neighborhood, still half-asleep. A kettle whistled, water spilled, someone laughed from another room. Then the laughter broke into a choke.
Meera dropped her cup when her husband froze mid-step. His eyes darted around, tracking something she couldn’t see. The air around him trembled, the faint smell of burnt wires filling the space. He backed away from nothing at all, mumbling a prayer that didn’t sound right.
“Arvind?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. His hand lifted, shaking, pointing toward the corner of the ceiling. There was nothing there. Just a ripple, like air moving underwater. Then the fridge magnet clattered to the floor. The curtains fluttered, though the windows were shut.
The children stood in the doorway, clutching each other. The older one held up a phone, its camera trying to focus but catching only static. A shadow flashed across the reflection in the steel plate near the sink, the outline of a mouth, open wide and moving too fast to scream.
Arvind gasped, his body jerking as if struck by something invisible. His head snapped back. Meera reached out and felt heat radiating from nowhere. She tried to pull him, but the grip around his torso was too strong. His skin reddened, then blistered.
When the government sirens finally blared outside, Meera was kneeling on the floor, still holding him. The two children stared at the scorch marks on the tiles, the smell of sulfur creeping into their clothes.
By the time the Exorcist Unit entered, the entity had already gone.
All that remained were faint claw marks on the wall, carved by something no one could see.
---
The television anchor smiled politely into the camera. Her hair was perfect, her tone measured.
“Authorities have confirmed a Level Three Manifestation in Sector-14 early this morning. Two casualties, one partial possession. The Exorcist Unit reports that the entity responsible has retreated to the Other Dimension.”
A graphic appeared beside her: red dots marking the week’s attacks. There were too many to count.
“In other news,” she continued, “graduation rates from inter-dimensional training schools have once again declined. Experts believe the demons are evolving, adapting faster than our young fighters can learn. This year’s pass rate stands at just eighteen percent, the lowest in a decade.”
She paused for effect, eyes gliding across the teleprompter.
“The debate continues over whether such lessons should remain part of the standard school curriculum. Parents across the city argue that children who lack the aptitude or interest should not be forced into dangerous dimensional travel. The Education Ministry insists that every citizen must be prepared for the unseen threat.”
The footage behind her changed to cheerful clips of students in uniform walking into buildings, their backpacks covered in protection seals.
“Meanwhile,” she said with a practiced smile, “a new batch of senior students begins their first year of inter-dimensional studies tomorrow. We wish them luck.”
She didn’t blink when the studio lights flickered for half a second. The camera cut to commercial.
